47.
47.
Once we had sailed down the gentle eastern coast of the Balkan Peninsula, we soon reached Galata.
From the Roman stronghold on the Danube, the Greek who had accompanied us as our guide eagerly explained that the city was named Galatai, after the ancient Gaul tribe, and that it had a long history.
But beyond that small city, across a narrow strait, something enormous appeared and filled our eyes and minds entirely.
'Constantinople.'
The city the Roman emperor had built in his own name.
Though the coast was entirely ringed with walls, the buildings within were so tall and massive that their revealed majesty could not be hidden.
'You are truly the master of the world.'
A city that overwhelmed everything around it simply by being there. I would not have believed such a place existed in the world until I saw it with my own eyes.
'How on earth did such an empire ever fall, and when?'
Following the guide's direction, while we waited for the ships approaching from the city to verify our identity,
all our brave Norse warriors, united in spirit, became as quiet as mice and simply stared at the most beautiful thing man had ever created.
How many people lived beyond those walls?
How much gold, silver, and treasure slept within those beautiful cathedrals and castles?
What was the city's garrison like?
How would one go about capturing it? First, the satellite city of Galata had to be taken without question. One could never bring that city down by attacking only one side.
Unlike everyone else, who fell into the beauty the scenery conveyed, only my head began to think up all the possible ways to bring that city down.
This was instinctive, something like a hobby of mine.
After some thought, the conclusion I reached was that, using some miraculous method, we would have to surround the city on all four sides, then somehow push ships into the narrow bay and climb up the relatively low seawall.
I had not been able to confirm the landward walls, but according to what Rurik and Oleg had told me, ignoring the double walls and the densely packed towers behind them, the scale of the moat in front of the walls was already incomprehensibly wide and deep.
A simultaneous attack on four sides, cutting supply lines, internal betrayal—blending these three would require a siege of at least five years. That was my conclusion.
'Truly absurd defensive power.'
If there had been a city like this in Northumbria in Britain... The mere thought was terrifying.
So I could not help but wonder in my mind: how on earth could such an empire collapse?
I did not know the distant future, but seeing this great city and its prosperity, I thought it could withstand whatever they did among themselves for at least five hundred years.
From the Baltic Sea, across the land of Rus, to the Black Sea.
Adding my traders and the Chersonite traders to the twenty longships I had led here, the fleet numbered a full fifty vessels. And yet, because we had arrived as the emperor's guests, there were other ships held up on the coast unable to enter the city, and even a rough count of them exceeded a hundred.
Those ships were unlikely all warships, so they must have all been merchant vessels. I could not even begin to guess what volume of goods passed through this city in a single day.
'I want it. This prosperity. If only I could make it bloom among the Norsemen...'
Greed arose. In my mind, I could almost see the flow of money linking the island of Britain, the northern coasts of Frankia, the lands of the Danes and the Svear, and this place.
"Helgi Konungr! The signal has been given. They have told us to enter the harbor of Prosphorion! It is the most historic port of our city! Truly, the city must have recognized the Konungr's dignity!"
The Greek guide—whose name, I was sorry to say, I could not remember—clapped his hands as if it were his own triumph and rejoiced.
Perhaps he was pleased that a barbarian king understood their language.
"Is that so? Good. Then we move again. Refil! Follow that ship ahead, slowly."
"Aye! Konungr!"
A Roman ship, a little larger and taller than our longships.
If we came to grips directly, it seemed like we might still have a chance, but the problem was said to be not swords and spears but fire. Their ships spewed flames, they said.
Surprisingly, Kiyiu's friends, who had experience raiding northern Anatolia(?), feared it especially; perhaps they used something like petroleum. A fire that could not be quenched even with water...
Was it not truly astonishing? The same world, the same age, yet such a gap in technology. I had made a good decision in coming here—though the timing itself posed a bit of a problem.
[Buuuuuu- uuuuuun-]
From the lead ship of the longship fleet, Stórolf's vessel, a resounding horn call blared out at my command, and the sound of oars pulling in rhythm pleasantly sliced through the water.
The closer the city drew, the more we saw a well-ordered harbor, and the Roman soldiers crowding thickly atop the walls. And beyond, the voices of countless people.
Rome was waiting for us.
*****
From afar it had been hazy; up close it overwhelmed; once inside, I lost all composure.
It was not because I was entranced by the surroundings, all laid in pure white marble and costly brass. It was solely because of the countless crowds that had gathered just to see us—truly, I lost all composure.
'Just how many people are there?'
I remembered once proudly boasting about Árós's population—had I said twenty or thirty thousand? The greatest city of the North?
The greatest city in Europe seemed to easily exceed that tenfold.
The prospect of being a foreign king, even a heathen king, might have meant wretched treatment, yet the bewildering feeling when a flower-strewn path unfolded before my eyes, something I had only seen in films...
As we marched along the road paved with smoothly dressed white stone, the people who lined the wayside in long rows looked up at me with a gaze of wonder, but my mood felt exactly like that of an elephant in a parade.
Were the royal captives of old Rome forced to feel like this? It was not a particularly pleasant feeling.
Still, thanks to all those countless eyes, the feeling of being somewhat daunted by the city's overwhelming scale vanished in an instant.
The immense attention cooled my excitement instead.
Rome was Rome. Árós was Árós.
'I will take every engineering and mathematical art that relates to this place from it. And I will build a city no less than this.' That resolve sprang back to life.
"From here, it is the main road, the Mese, Konungr."
"Ah, I see. Huh, the roads we have walked so far were enormous, but this is even more so."
"A pride of Rome, Konungr. I shall escort you this way."
"Thank you."
After entering the city through the Gate of Eugenios, we at last reached a fantastic road where far more people than before lined both sides.
Endless rows of columns and the roofs that covered those columns stretched out like escorts on either side of the broad avenue.
Beneath that cool spectacle, the buildings that normally housed all sorts of shops were all shuttered, packed full of people.
There were those who threw flowers at us with cheers; occasionally someone shouted, "Good heavens, Hercules—!" or "Varangian—!" But thanks to the Roman soldiers stationed precisely between the crowd and our parade, no citizens approached directly.
In that cauldron of acclamation, we walked diligently, passing the Forum of Constantine, the Milion (the Roman milestone, the reference point for all distances), and the silk factory built on the site of the old Temple of Zeus.
At last, we stood beside the Hagia Sophia cathedral, which was even more beautiful up close. That round work of art I had glimpsed beyond the seawall.
"From here, I can go no further, Helgi Konungr."
The capable guide who had kindly and zealously explained every part of the city to the Norse sightseers(?) quietly stepped aside. As we stood blinking and looking around before the Roman soldiers in their striking crimson cloaks, men in pure white cloaks approached our party.
"Salve! Helgi Konungr! The most beautiful city and its Roman people welcome you. Wise Konungr of Rus! I heard you speak Latin—is it true?"
It felt a little odd to say this at eighteen, but if I added my past life, I was over forty, so it was probably fine.
Before me stood a truly fine-featured young man who addressed me with a slight bow. He held a helmet plumed with white feathers under his arm, against the side of his gleaming golden armor, his left hand on his belt in an impressive posture.
These fellows had surely been schooled in everything.
"Well met, soldier of Rome. It is true that I can speak Latin. You seem to know my name—may I know yours?"
"Forgive my rudeness, Konungr! My name is Basiliskianos. You would honor me by calling me Basiliskianos."
"Very well, Basiliskianos."
I approached the brown-haired Greek, who flashed a white-toothed smile that was clearly a smile of hospitality, and extended my arm. The white-cloaked men around us all seemed to flinch at once, but Basiliskianos grasped my wrist without hesitation.
"I hope you will accept our Roman hospitality well."
"Of course. Though I did not expect to be welcomed... so grandly."
"When the Archon of the North (a foreign ruler) who has pacified Rus visits in person, there can be no negligence. The Empire is not stingy toward greatness."
"The Archon of the North, is it..."
It was a somewhat political phrase. 'Archon' was a term used within the Roman Empire to refer to the ruler of a region. For example, the Strategos of Cherson was usually a rank above Archon, but that could vary case by case, lending a strange nuance.
'It seems they've been racking their brains over me inside.'
Especially in a vast empire like this, how one treated foreign kings was a major issue... I decided not to think too much about it. I would be content that the treatment was not something brazen like, "Hey, Helgi, yes, we mean you, barbarian."
"Kind words. So, this Archon of the North—where should I go now?"
"Haha. I hope you will not fret over the title too much. It is a result of the combined opinions of the Senate and His Imperial Majesty. In truth, it has no real meaning..."
He frowned slightly when mentioning the Senate. Ah, there was a clash between the two.
"...Now, Archon, you shall proceed to the Chalke Gate. The two emperors are waiting in person."
"Is that so? Then I must not keep the two emperors waiting. Let us go at once."
"Understood, Archon. Scholae! Open the way!"
"Open the way!"
[Chik!]
With perfect, unified motion, the guard detail moved as one body, their white cloaks swirling, and as the line that had blocked the way parted, a white building appeared beyond.
A beautiful gate that seemed as if a giant piece of chalk had been carefully polished, carved, and set down. At its peak, golden-bright brass shone in a round frame, scattering light in all directions.
And before that wide-open gate, amidst all those people, two figures stood together with unmistakable presence.
"Stórolf, wait here with your retinue."
"Aye, Konungr!"
"Refil, Oleg, Djur. Follow behind me."
"As you command!"
A place the cheering crowds could no longer reach.
Unlike the roads packed with buildings, this deepest part of Constantinople even felt somewhat secluded. I took a step forward.
They were clad head to toe in purple fabric, over which ornaments that seemed as though gold had slowly dripped from the crown of their heads were striking. The red gem set in the exact center of a crown likewise made of gold, together with the bright red shoes one of them wore, seemed to proclaim the beginning and the end of the Empire.
One was exceedingly tall and burly in build, with a face on the cusp of late middle age.
The other was of moderate height and slender, with a face just entering middle age.
At last, the King of the North stood before the emperors of Rome.